User blog:Neildown/Rebellion
This is a roleplay game you probably knew that. Players will be added as the game goes along, as it is a story as well as a roleplay. I will add bits & pieces to make it a story and players will post when told to in the story. This is also a bit graphic and violent, just so you know. Now that that's covered, I give you Rebellion. :It is December 8, of the year 2034. China, Russia and Iran have -under radical leaderships- formed a pact. Their goal: Take the world hostage and change earth to a one-world order. By now, Communist Russia has smote most of Europe with help from China. :Iran has terrorized the Middle East and killed millions having recieved secret shipments of various supplies from you can guess who for over 25 years and now holds it in an iron fist. ::Thermo-nuclear weapons have been engaged and every continent on earth has felt the violent shake of advanced ICBMs. Dangerous fallout, destruction, death, and disorder claims the major portion of our globe. The Radicals or Radis the united armies of China, Russia and Iran are called here are closing their jaws on freedom fighters and partisans everywhere. America is no longer a free nation, but a sad wreck of what it used to be. New York which was once a thriving metropolis is now a cold mass of toppled steel and mortar mixed with the bloody, mangled masses of human corpses... Not everyone was killed in the nuclear attack on New York in LA or Detroit for that matter however. There were survivors everywhere, and all of them burning with vengeance, ready to fight and die for their country. Young and old were uniting behind the bleak forces of Fascism and Communism, and their fitting codename - Rebellion. Jared Jenrail - often called Jared 'Spike' or 'Jim', sat crouched behind a fallen wall on the sidewalk. He was in full urban-camo gear excepting the complete face mask -instead he wore a helmet. It was a familiar yet distant feeling to him, he was an ex-marine, a veteran in the latest phase of Afghanistan and the best sniper there was. He could operate any rifle you gave him and out-shoot you to the point of utter humiliation. Now he was back to fighting, only this time it was in his own hometown. Or what was left of it anyway. He looked quickly around the edge of the building he was crouching behind and picked up his giant sniper rifle. He pulled the stock up to his shoulder and peered through the sites, scanning the crumbled buildings and barren street littered with bodies, cars, and trash. In the distance was the sound of a patrol of men, probably a block away. They weren't in sight though. Jenrail gave a quick, secretive wave to a half-crumpled apartment complex opposite his side of the street, from which there came some movement in one of the blown out windows. Then turning on his heels he ran to the other side of his building and waved to the opposite side after a brief moment of listening. The sleek gleam of a blackened gun barrel waved back and was gone. Time to move out. Jenrail climbed through the window of his building and crawled to the highest floor of the building. He prodded the floor briefly to make sure it was safe and laid himself prone on the floor. Less than a minute passed, then several shouts and cusses were heard, followed by three explosions. He yanked back the bolt on his gun and set his sights towards the right street but keeping an eye towards the left. The sound of footsteps and gunshots down both streets came closer and he tensed up, ready to open fire. Sure enough a gang of men came running down, sub-machine guns blazing and semi-auto rifles popping at the surrounding buildings. This was a bit tricky because there was only so much space to shoot from and with there only being a small window for Jenrail to fire at the men. But being the top-notch sniper he was this was second nature. The first one to come into view was a tall Russian man in a flapping officer's jacket. He carried an AK Kalashnikov and was firing in the buildings ahead of him. Jenrail set his bead on the Russian's head, quick as a flash and pulled the trigger. Down below, a Russian man was popping rounds at an adjacent building when he heard a distinct shot and was showered with blood. He turned forward from the sideways view he was taking and tripped over the headless body of an officer. He got up to run and slipped in the mess, but recovered and ran for his group which was going pell-mell down the street. He was lucky Jenrail was already on the move. Jenrail was streaking through the ruins of his building and chanced a look out of one of the windows. There was another group coming his way, full broadside. There were about 20 all together but they were a distance away. Jenrail stopped and, after making a quick confirmation that they were indeed enemies, shot at the closest one and was gone after the other group again. He didn't stay long enough to see the results. He made his way to the window and had his sights ready, but there were no targets. He stood a bit puzzled and then heard the smash of a door in one of the lower levels of his building. He was going to be ratted out! He pulled out his trusty Desert Eagle from a hip holster, aiming it straight at the door and had his bowie at the ready too. 30 seconds later there was some rustling at the door and it burst open. Jenrail fired 5 times was all he had time to. The first man who kicked the door open got most of the lead in his chest and one bullet hit the man behind him in the ribs with a sickening "splat". Each of them opened fire at Jenrail's legs as they came out with their automatics and they closed in on him in a heartbeat. Jenrail fell to the floor, his knees buckling under him and full of blood. As he fell he saw the first man keel over from the wounds he had received from the Eagle. There wasn't much else he could comprehend at this point from the shock; his gun was knocked out of his grasp along with his other armaments by one of the unhurt soldiers. He was hauled roughly up onto his feet and received countless blows to the face, flanks, chest, and legs, which sent his vision blurry from the pain. Then, before he knew it, he was facing out an open window. A thick, Russian voice was being bellowed out by his left ear. He turned to see who it was but he received a sharp jab of cold metal in the side of his jaw. This he made out to be the end of a pistol. It bit cruelly into his skin and was in contact with a nerve point, which made it all the more painful. He tried to lash out but found his arms were pinioned to his sides by someone else. All the while the deep voice was speaking furiously and threateningly loud. Jenrail could barely see out of the corner of his eye a friendly soldier in a building opposite of him. The Russian was probably negotiating with him for my life, Jenrail knew the man as a good speaker in several languages [if that was him anyway].